


Would You Notice?

by eadunne2



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Distance, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5070913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eadunne2/pseuds/eadunne2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For decades there was never a thought nor a word in Harry Hart’s mind other than duty: duty to his fellows, duty to his past, how he might fulfill his duty in the future, even after he was gone. </p><p>And then, quite suddenly, that was no longer the only thing on his mind.</p><p>That bloody boy.</p><p>That beautiful, terrifying, infuriating boy. He’d been perfect from the start, and so much of Harry’s job was to convince him otherwise. Polish him up. Teach him to walk and dress like a gentleman, but he’d been all that and more since the very beginning. Eggsy Unwin, regardless of training or attire, was one of the bravest, kindest, most selflessly stubborn assholes to walk the earth, and Harry had accidentally fallen in love with him outside a bloody police station. </p><p>Not that Harry would ever say fuck all about it. And then he’d died.</p><p>Not really. Not quite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would You Notice?

For decades there was never a thought nor a word in Harry Hart’s mind other than duty: duty to his fellows, duty to his past, how he might fulfill his duty in the future, even after he was gone. 

And then, quite suddenly, that was no longer the only thing on his mind.

That bloody boy.

That beautiful, terrifying, infuriating boy. He’d been perfect from the start, and so much of Harry’s job was to convince him otherwise. Polish him up. Teach him to walk and dress like a gentleman, but he’d been all that and more since the very beginning. Eggsy Unwin, regardless of training or attire, was one of the bravest, kindest, most selflessly stubborn assholes to walk the earth, and Harry had accidentally fallen in love with him outside a bloody police station. 

Not that Harry would ever say fuck all about it. And then he’d died.

Not really. Not quite. But out for awhile, long enough that he didn’t recognize the face in the mirror four times out of five, and the bones of the wrists as he does up his cuffs look like someone else’s. His body aches in places it hadn’t used to, though he’s no stranger to pain. No stranger to the gaping void next to him in his bed, his home, his heart. He’s not used to wanting, though.

“Well?”

“Eggsy,” says Merlin, handing him a file.

“What?” 

“That’ll be your first job. He hasn’t checked in in 36 hours. I’d like you to make sure he’s alright.”

“Surely you don’t think he’s been taken by these fools?” Harry murmurs, scanning the document.

Merlin frowns. “No, but he’s been off since you've been...away.”

“Off?”

“Lot of questions from you lately,” he observes and Harry scowls. 

“Historically, people have been a little kinder to friends come back from the dead.”

“If you’re looking for kindness my friend, then we’re both in the wrong business.” Merlin sounds curt, but a little sad too.

“Suppose you’re right,” Harry sighs, and turns away to ready himself as Merlin reconsiders. 

“Glad you’re back, Harry,” Merlin murmurs, and Harry smiles a little, just the corners of his eyes.

\--

His perch from the rafters offers a surprisingly useful lay of the land in spite of the indignity of having to perch in bloody fucking rafters, so he sees everything as Eggsy rolls into the dusty room pursued by two men in black jackets.

His weight loss is apparent even from this distance, accentuated by the suit and the angle of his attack as the young man springs to his feet. His hair is cut shorter, more businesslike, and he moves like a machine, precise and lightening fast. He lays the two out without issue, and Harry swells with pride, watching as he pulls out a frequency jammer and clicks it, and suddenly his head is filled with Eggsy’s voice as well as Merlin’s. 

“Clear,” he murmurs in a surprisingly deep voice.

“Eggsy, you ass, it’s been forty two hours.”

“I got the job done.”

Harry smiles at the fondness in Merlin’s voice, hidden beneath the exasperation, wonders if Eggsy notices it too, if he knows how rare and hard to find it is.

“Yes, well, I sent back up."

“Back up?” Eggsy mutters into the earpiece. He’s brushing the dust off his jacket. 

With practiced ease, Harry swings down from the rafters aiding his fall with a device similar to rappelling gear and lands gently on the balls of his feet. His different role on this mission has him dressed in black today, slacks and a leather coat, and he rather misses his suit, but these do move more easily.

“I told Merlin you were quite capable, but he insisted.”

Eggsy spins on the ball of his foot, weapon trained on Harry. Until the boy’s face changes, Harry hadn’t considered what this meeting would be like. He’d thought about after, dreamed about it really, he and Eggsy as something new perhaps, his bright, cheeky smile, the gentleness in his hands, but in this unplanned moment he realizes he hadn’t really considered all factors.

Eggsy’s face is shocked only for a moment, and then it darkens, storm clouds rolling in over ice. There’s excruciating pain and loneliness so profound Harry only recognizes it because he’s felt it himself, and then, quite suddenly, there is no expression at all. 

“You sent Hart?” he murmurs. 

“Hart?” Merlin’s voice is surprised in Harry’s ear. “Yes.”

“You’re a bastard, Merlin.” 

“You’re welcome, Eggsy.”

“I’m not fuckin’ thanking you.” His voice is harsh and Harry hears one raspy intake of breath from the young man before Eggsy clicks the jammer again and the feedback in his head goes silent. 

Harry observes the age where it lays heavy on Eggsy’s face in places it hadn’t before as the boy moves forward with extended hand. He grasps Harry’s palm and for a brief second Harry feels the hand tremble, not sure which of them is responsible, and then Eggsy says, “Mr. Hart. Good to see you.”

Harry is trained. He’s an expert in his field, has been for decades. This doesn’t change the reality that Eggsy has been gone from the room for entire minutes before Harry can shake himself back into the present and follow him out. 

\--

Harry and Merlin have been talking over whiskey for just long enough that Harry’s face is feeling a bit warm when Eggsy enters. He looks dapper beyond belief in a charcoal suit, but his face is carefully blank. Not Eggsy at all.

“I don’t understand why you don’t put Roxy on this,” he says directly to Merlin, gesturing with his tablet. “The guy gets around. Seems like she could do a bit more with the-”

“He’s gay,” Merlin interrupts. “Also, I’m sending Harry on assignment with you.” There is no room for discussion in his voice which is a bit rich considering this is the first time Harry’s hearing about it. He wonders what Eggsy’s reaction will be. 

“Oh,” is all he says, and nods. “Very well.”

“Very well?” Harry echoes. What is happening? Who is this man?

Eggsy observes him calmly and without expression. “You’re not dead.”

“No. I’m not.” 

It’s the first time Eggsy actually looks at him since entering the room, green-blue eyes more of a grey against the dark circles around them and the background of his suit. With a casual swagger that makes Harry’s chest hurt at the familiarity, the boy crosses to him and plucks the tumbler from his fingers, draining it. 

“Alright,” Eggsy says, stepping back and out of Harry’s space and addressing Merlin only. “I’ll leave tonight at 1700 hours. Final briefing at 1600. Good day gentleman.” 

“Good day gentlemen?” Harry says incredulously to the door as it closes behind Eggsy. “What the hell happened to him?”

“I believe you did,” Merlin murmurs, refilling both of their glasses.

When Harry gets to the conference room Eggsy is already there on Merlin’s clipboard, sorting through files, and he doesn’t even look up as Harry slides into place at the table, though for a few minutes he appears to be reading the same line over and over. 

“Eggsy,” Harry says, and the boy looks annoyed. 

“What?” 

“What are you doing?”

The look on Eggsy’s face says something along the lines of ‘have you gone daft?’ but his voice says, “Preparing for the case, Harry. Reading files, reviewing security footage...surely you remember.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” 

The sharpness in his tone has the boy glancing up, and for a moment, Eggsy is _Eggsy_ again, vulnerable and eager to please, though there’s pain in his eyes that wasn’t there before. 

“Don’t seem like I know much these days.” It’s so heavy, that weight in his voice, and it settles on Harry’s shoulders and clenches around his throat.

“I’m sorry they didn’t tell you.” 

Anger darkens Eggsy’s eyes, but the rest of him stays perfectly still. “No matter.”

The dismissal hurts, though he’s got no right to feel it. He’s the one that went and died on him. “Eggsy-” 

“Don’t, Harry.” There’s a plea in his voice, a vulnerable softness that Harry knows will be gone in a breath. “Please don’t. I can’t-”

But Merlin saves him. Roxy joins the meeting to lend some suggestions, and only she gets a smile, and even then only a small one. The rest is Eggsy carefully clarifying details from the file and ignoring Harry.

Was Eggsy really this bent out of shape over him? It’s hard to believe. He’s the perfect Kingsman agent now, though Harry notices he’s chosen not to go by any code name. Harry’s assignment before had been to change Eggsy, to morph him into a man of class and breeding, someone with manners and swagger and ruthless training. Harry had hated it, had known from the start that the real Eggsy Unwin was a much more fearsome fighter and a classier gentleman than any highbrow brainwashing could instill. The dreadful, painful irony of it is that he unintentionally succeeded in carrying out the Kingsman orders from beyond the grave. 

Harry Hart, as always, fulfilling his duty. For once, he wishes he hadn’t.

\--

Harry’s face is on fire and there’s an aching in his gut...he’s not particularly familiar with it, but it’s killing him where he stands near the entrance to the garden watching Eggsy charm the pants off a respected member of Parliament. 

Fading light through the trees traces Eggsy's body, wiry, less stocky than before, settles in the recently deepened hollows beneath his cheekbones and the pain in Harry’s chest increases, but Eggsy exudes the confidence of a much older man leaning casually against the support beam of the tent. The suit hangs exquisitely, and it’s easy to tell there are strong shoulders and trim hips beneath it. He’s learned to wear the uniform alright. There’s a drink in his hand, and Harry doesn’t miss how he slides the condensation over his bottom lip, leaving it shiny when he smiles, coyly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. The target touches Eggsy’s sleeve and laughs every fourth sentence or so and Harry whiles away the time planning creative ways to kill a member of the House without getting caught.

He doesn’t have to marinate in his own discomfort for long, Eggsy gives him the signal that he’s retrieved the required information and heads over to meet Harry near the exit. 

Emotionless, he says, “One more drink and then we should be safe to go. Shall we?” he asks, but doesn’t watch to see if Harry’s following, doesn’t even acknowledge him until they’ve both got full tumblers in their hands when he gestures to a table near the outside edge of the party. There are a few stragglers there, and a group of youngsters dancing in the grass near a speaker, but the eyelines to the exits are good and they sit, if stiffly.

There’s no conversation to be had. Eggsy sips his drink, stalwartly ignoring Harry, scanning the grounds more thoroughly than necessary. The effortless looseness he’d worn for the target is replaced by a stiff spine. The ache in Harry’s chest has shifted to something dull, something that feels akin to fear, but again he can’t place it, and he wonders what it is about this boy that makes him feel things he’s never felt before, even in his old age, a new type of pain. Foolishly, Harry had thought he’d felt every one.

His efforts to distract himself are interrupted when he realizes from the corner of his eye that Eggsy has been staring at the same area of the garden for several minutes and there’s the slightest crinkle in his brow, the first hint of real emotion Harry’s seen all day.

It’s a little girl, maybe five years of age, and she’s weeping so hard little bubbles of snot keep welling up from her nose, and while it’s repulsive, Harry can’t help but feel for her. He’s staring in disgusted awe when he realizes Eggsy is gone from the seat next to him and is making his way to the little girl. Unbuttoning his coat as he kneels, Eggsy says, “Hey luv, ‘sa matter, eh?” 

It hits Harry like a ton of bricks how much he’d missed Eggsy, his Eggsy, not this cold and terrifying knock-off, as he hears the boy’s real voice for the first time since he returned from the dead. It’s the same pitch, but a different timbre, warmer and sweet, and the little girl blinks up at the handkerchief he holds out.

“Nobody’ll dance wiv me,” she sniffles, scrubbing at her face with the proffered cloth. 

“Not nobody.” 

“Huh?”

“Well, you didn’t ask me, didja?” 

“Would you like to dance?” she asks, the beginnings of a smile quirking at her lips. 

“I’d love to, darlin’,” he grins, and then they’re off, twirling around the yard, stopping only momentarily for Eggsy to drape his suit coat over the back of Harry’s chair, and for one agonizing second, he smiles, really smiles, soft and sweet and almost nervous, but it’s so brief Harry might have imagined it, and then he’s gone, swinging the little girl high into the air.

In all, they only dance for maybe ten minutes, long enough to convince the little girl to join the whirling of her peers, and Eggsy slips back over to where Harry is sitting. “Time to go, old man,” he says, a hint of teasing singing at the back of his throat, and Harry’s heart is still racing about it as they walk down the drive, and then even as the doorman makes them, as they’re caught, as a host of guards bears down on them. 

It’s a breeze, honestly, almost pleasant. Eggsy kicks the knees from under the first one and uses his body to trip the two behind as Harry tases one, two, three of them. From there, the guards drop like flies, and neither man ever touches their firearms until the very end. Harry doesn’t even realize what’s happening, he’d just laid out two goons who were going for Eggsy with switchblades when he hears the blast, a single gunshot, and he whirls around to see the last guard fall, gun clattering to the ground. Eggsy’s weapon remains drawn, but he’s not looking at the man on the ground. He’s looking at Harry, eyes huge and round and the breath is coming too fast in his throat. 

“Eggsy.”

He says the boy’s name firmly, sternly, needs to get him focused. He recognizes the beginnings of a panic attack but they don’t have the luxury of the time it would take. Fortunately the tone of voice works and Eggsy blinks his way back into reality and lowers his firearm. 

“Harry,” he croaks. He looks so young, standing there in a suit that fits his body perfectly, but not his soul, and for a moment Harry thinks he’d kill to see the boy in trainers and a jacket.

“That’s right, my boy. Ready to run?” Eggsy nods, and they practically fly to the car. Harry’s grinning with adrenaline and the stretch of his muscles, still surprisingly strong after his stint as a corpse, and they swing into the vehicle and peel out of the lot.

Safely on the road and out of harm’s way, Harry relaxes into the seat and maneuvers the car through traffic with ease, finally risking a glance over at Eggsy. The rims of his eyes are red, and though his face is completely blank, Harry can see where one hand is curled into a white-knuckle fist against his thigh.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?”

“‘M fuckin’ fantastic.” It’s ice, stone, steel, far gone and locked away and Harry returns his focus to the road.

Eggsy disappears the moment Harry pulls the car to a stop outside the shop, leaving him sitting in the driver’s seat for a few extra minutes, feeling older even than he is.

He’s not sure what he’s done wrong, and it shouldn’t really matter. He’s a professional. He literally came back from the dead and jumped right back into work, just as he’s always done. He’s never been anything else, anyone else, wouldn’t know how to if he tried, which is the terrible part. For a brief moment there, lying in the hospital bed, he’d considered trying.

But Eggsy hates him for some reason, and Harry can’t blame him, hates himself most nights when he wakes up in the stillness and the quiet, old scars aching with every heartbeat. There’s something about the boy though, that makes him feel so alive, almost worthy, makes Harry feel like he could be something else, someone else, flesh and blood and feeling, someone who’s allowed to have what he wants for once.

What he wants. What does he want? He couldn’t in good conscience ask Eggsy to marry him, wouldn’t want that anyway. But the thought of the boy beneath him, or even better, asleep next to him on those nights he wakes up feeling so lonely...it makes Harry curl into the steering wheel with the weight of _might have been_ ’s.

Eventually he manages to drag himself into the shop, trying to decide between whiskey and the shooting range and wondering how bad it would be, really, if he chose both, when Merlin intercepts him.

“You need to see this,” he says with no preamble before shoving his tablet in front of Harry’s nose.

“Christ, not now Merlin.”

“Now.” There’s no room for argument in his tone, but also Harry recognizes the footage on the screen as video of the fight they’d just been in. Merlin had hacked the security cameras, and Harry watches as he and Eggsy take out the guards, admiring their swift coordination, like a dancing couple only deadlier, when he sees the last man, the one with the gun, draw his weapon.

The angle is perfect, Harry can see himself dropping the two with the switchblades, but most importantly, can see Eggsy. Watches Eggsy realize the guard is about to shoot Harry. The boy draws his firearm with impressive swiftness, but the technique is completely overshadowed by the way he jerks roughly in Harry's direction just a split second before, tries to put his body between Harry and the gunman, then shoots the guy point blank, and right before Harry turns around, convulses with either a sob or a gag, so harshly that Harry wonders how he missed the boy’s trembling. 

He watches himself get Eggsy’s attention, and they take off down the drive, but he ignores the rest in favor of rewinding the footage over and over.

“He’s in the second changing room,” Merlin murmurs and strides out of the room, though he turns back at the door and says, “Don’t fuck it up, Harry.”

He’s not at all sure what he should be expecting. A panic attack? An argument? The boy was worried about him, trying to hide it, maybe he was just confused. A hypothesis would’ve been useless anyway. Nothing could’ve prepared him.

The moment the door cracks, he hears it, sobbing so wretched it sounds physically painful, and then there’s Eggsy, face buried in his arm where it’s holding up his body against the wall. The other hand is curled into a fist against the wallpaper, knuckles bloody. Eggsy is crying so hard he’s literally gagging, and Harry can see the muscles in his neck stand out for a second before the boy slides to the floor.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, barely recognizing his own voice, kneeling and reaching for him, but Eggsy scrambles away into the corner of the room. 

“No! I can’t-You can’t-Go, Harry! You gotta go!”

“No, dear boy. I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s the right thing to say. Though Eggsy’s face stays screwed up, he takes a real breath for the first time since Harry’s entered the room. 

“May I touch you?” Harry murmurs. 

Eggsy’s mumbling, doesn’t seem to have heard him, but Harry catches enough. “Can’t lose you again, can’t- won’t survive, fuck Harry, please-” and then those beautiful eyes are turned to him at last, open and seeing and wrecked. “Need you,” he finally pants out.

Harry sits back on his heels and opens his arms, half expecting the boy to get up and run, but instead Eggsy’s on him in an instant, slamming into him before wrapping his arms around Harry and burying his face in his neck. 

“Harry, Harry, fuck, Harry, don' go, I love you,” and Harry freezes. Eggsy feels it and starts to pull away, a clusterfuck of an emotional roller coaster, but Harry doesn’t let go. 

“And I you, beautiful boy.”

It’s true, though he could never bring himself to even think those words.

Eggsy stares at him like he’s grown an extra head. “No, but you...I was never...I’m a fuck-up, Harry.”

Shaking his head, Harry runs a thumb down Eggsy’s cheek. “No, sweetheart. You were perfect from the start. I’m so sorry. No don’t cry, darling. I’m here. I’m yours.”

It doesn’t stop the tears that are again racing down Eggsy’s face, but the boy is smiling now, sweet and pure and it’s so damn perfect Harry wants to join him. He leans down and kisses him instead.

\--

Heads turn as the two men walk in. They’re exquisite. The taller one, dressed in blue, has a hand hovering protectively over the low back of the shorter man, younger by the look of it, breathtaking in a silver suit. They move with purpose to the dance floor.

No one notices the blush on the younger man’s face as the dark haired one rocks their hips together. No one’s paying attention while the blond chats so charmingly with the man at the head table that he gets away with slipping a hand inside the man’s pocket and retrieving a phone. No one hears the gruff voice of the older man, after, as he shoves the boy into an alcove and pins him there. “ _Mine,_ ” or the breathless voice of the younger one whining, “Yeah, fuck Harry. All yours.”

And Harry makes damn sure that no one but himself gets to hear what comes later. There are certain advantages to being a Kingsman, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me :) seasless.tumblr.com


End file.
